


Death Of A Bachelor

by cheshirecat101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bondage, Bonding, Daddy Kink, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Bonding, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:37:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecat101/pseuds/cheshirecat101
Summary: Peter is getting up there as far as unbonded Alphas go, at least according to everyone around him. So finally, he decides to go to a club where Omegas are readily available for mating bonds--just don't ask how they got to be there. A willful young Omega named Stiles catches his eye, and Peter is immediately interested. The complications only come after they bond.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought I was done writing Teen Wolf fanfiction, you thought wrong! This actually started as a cheer-up story for someone and then turned into...something else. And now it's here. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy, and just so you know, I now have a Patreon up and running! So if you like my work here, please go check out my original fiction there. You can access it through the link to my tumblr on my profile. Thanks! :)

The red and turquoise lights lighting up the dance floor of the club in pools of cherry and blue raspberry reminded Peter almost too much of police cars, but that was half the point. It was an illegal club, and poking fun at the illegality of it all was half the fun of it. Plus, it gave them an excuse to lead the Omegas around in skimpy outfits and handcuffs, though Peter noticed that most of them were unbound, save for a collar around their neck that no doubt had shocking capabilities, at least for the worse behaved ones. 

He'd been turned onto this club by Laura, who'd insisted that, disgusting as the club was, it'd fulfill his needs well enough. All he needed was an Omega to bond with, preferably older, infertile so he wouldn't have to deal with the ever looming threat of children, which could hinder his career, even if he had an Omega to look after them full time. He didn't want to get attached. That was the whole point. He wanted to fuck and bond with an Omega so he was technically mated and have someone he could fuck when he was lonely, but that was it. 

And this club boasted the best behaved sold Omegas out there. Except...

He paused in his swimming through the various pools of light, catching a scent that wasn't tinged with fear like the others' were. It was...something different. Something that spoke of a resistance, a bit of fire, something smoky around the edges but still sweet like a typical Omega scent. Like burned sugar, or smoked out sea salt caramel. 

It was mouthwatering. And seemed to belong to someone in the back, in one of the private rooms. Peter gently padded his way towards the private rooms, no guards currently in his way, no bouncer on duty. Probably because he seemed to be in the same room as the sweet, smoky scent--cherry and vanilla tobacco, maybe?--and he heard a sharp slap, the sound of flesh ringing against flesh.  
  
"Goddammit, Stilinski, behave yourself. They bite you, not the other way around." 

The words were growled, and this close, Peter could detect the other scent, a rather angry beta who had too much testosterone for Peter's--and probably the Omega's--sensitive nose. He snuffled a bit, trying to get the scent out, and focused on the sweet one instead. The Omega. 

"I can't help it if he asked me to," Peter heard said in a pleasant, if snarky tenor, and another slap rang out. And Peter smoothly slipped behind the red velvet curtain into the room, carrying his drink with him and looking a bit suave, and definitely confident. 

"Oh, there you are. Pietro told me he'd set you up in here for me," Peter oozed, exuding confidence and naming the name of the club owner because he did happen to actually do business with him on occasion. Nothing as...lurid as this though. 

The beta immediately straightened, and Peter caught a glimpse of Bambi brown eyes from behind the solid block of muscle that was the beta before they were obscured from sight again. 

"So sorry, sir, I didn't realize that you were having an audience with this Omega," the beta said, and bowed out of the room, Peter's dark eyes watching him as he left, making sure he shut the velvet curtain behind himself. Slowly, Peter picked up the chipboard with the information about the Omega on it from where it was hanging by the door, and sipped his cherry bourbon, examining it. "Stilinski, Stiles. Is Stiles really your name?" he asked, looking up at the Omega. That was a mistake. 

He was gorgeous, even with cheeks reddening from the beta's hits. Even with the thick shock collar around his neck that was chained to the couch as well, wrists cuffed together as yet another precaution. But Peter could overlook all that, see how beautiful the boy was, and young. Couldn't even be of legal age, he had to be sixteen, seventeen at most, and Peter was drawn in by those Bambi brown sugar eyes, by that cute brown hair, by those luscious, chewed to pieces and red for it lips. Not to mention the scent, thicker now that they were in the same room. Brown sugar and melted butter, burnt baking. Sweet, and slightly smoky.  
  
The Omega had a cocky twist to his mouth that Peter wanted to kiss or smack off of him, he wasn't sure which, and settled for looking at the chart again, taking in the information. It claimed he was eighteen but they had to say that, and Peter was still guessing somewhere around seventeen, sixteen.

"How old are you?" he asked, sipping at his drink again, and received a smug silence as an answer. Well, not smug. More defiant, it seemed, like the kid was determined not to give him any information. He'd been here for six months, it said, when Peter knew the turnover rate was usually a few weeks at best. It was probably his attitude then. Amazing it hadn't been beaten out of him yet, or shocked, or slapped, since beatings would mean bruises and only a particular type of sadistic Alpha would want a bruised Omega. Something they could break down further. But Peter wasn't interested in breaking Bambi eyes down. 

"Are you going to answer me, or are you just hoping that putting on the tough guy act will make me lose interest and leave?" he asked smoothly, leaning against the wall and tucking the clipboard away again. He'd gleaned all he wanted to know from it anyway. "Because I'll tell you right now, there's nothing more interesting to me than a mystery, and I've already caught your scent. Might as well save us both a bit of trouble by answering my questions." 

The Omega was silent for a minute more, and Peter could see the cogs turning in his head quickly. Smart, then. Also a bad sign, probably too smart for his own good, but Peter liked someone who could keep up with him. 

"Stiles is easier than my real name," the Omega eventually said. Stiles. Cute. "And I'm eighteen." 

Peter raised a brow. "How old are you really?" 

"Seventeen," Stiles tried, and Peter looked at him until he said, "I will be, at least. Next week." 

"So you're a sixteen year old unbounded omega being sold to anyone who will have you after six months of being here," Peter drawled, and saw suspicion enter the Omegas gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. "What on earth kind of hellish bad luck landed you here, my dear?"  
  
Stiles was silent, and Peter's eyes narrowed on him, icy blue willing him to reveal his secrets. But Stiles simply smiled, tilting his head at Peter in a move that was as Omega as it got, playing the coquette. And Peter had to admit, he liked it. Clearly Stiles didn't realize who had the power here, and that Peter had just found his new mate. 

He drained the rest of his drink in a smooth swallow, eyes on Stiles, who was suddenly looking awfully nervous as Peter rang the bell to the room, an attendant coming immediately. They spoke for a moment before the attendant disappeared again, looking plainly shocked, and apparently Stiles's curiously got the best of him. 

"What are you doing? What did you send him for?" he asked, and Peter set his glass down on one of the side tables in the room, slowly approaching Stiles where he was bound to the couch, unable to get away. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he answered, smiling smugly, and Stiles glared. Cute. "Don't be so dramatic, dear. I asked for another drink. One for you, one for me. I have no intentions of bonding with someone so young when I'm nearly...well, let's not talk about my age. It's not polite with women or Alphas, I'm afraid." 

Lies. And he was approaching nearly forty, but he had every intention of bonding with Stiles, and just wanted to lull him into a false sense of security. 

Which seemed to be working because Stiles said, "I'm the one who likes to be dramatic? You seem to have that title all to yourself." 

Ah, a spitfire will and a sharp tongue to boot. It would be fun to watch him come undone.  
  
The attendant was back in short order with two drinks, one for Peter, which would help along the rut he'd go into once Stiles went into heat. Which would happen as soon as he had his own drink. Peter's fingers brushed against Stiles's hand as he handed him his drink, and gently clinked their glasses together before taking a swallow of his own. Stiles sniffed at his drink for a moment, suspicious--smart boy--before taking a sip--good boy.  
  
And then things started to dissolve. Whatever heat inducing agent they'd given him worked amazingly fast, as within just a few minutes Stiles had realized what had happened, and threw his glass at Peter, who dodged it smoothly, finishing off his own drink. 

"What's the matter, my dear? Feeling a little hot?" he asked, voice simmering with seduction, a salacious tone that had Stiles glaring at him with hazy eyes. 

"You're a...goddamn liar," Stiles barely managed to get out, already feeling the effects of the heat, and Peter took his chance. He slid in close, next to Stiles on the couch, and slid hands along his bare waist and half exposed hips.  
  
Stiles clearly couldn't help himself, but he was certainly trying, both cuffed hands coming up to stifle the moan that made its way out of his throat, but Peter was having none of that. "No, no, baby boy," he murmured, nuzzling in against Stiles's neck and kissing the junction between throat and shoulder, the spot he'd sink his teeth into later to claim, claim, claim. And god did he want to. "Let me hear you. I want to hear all those noises you've been holding in." 

"Fuck you," was Stiles's panted answer, and Peter pulled back, starting to undo his own belt, needing to do little to undress Stiles but pull down those tiny shorts.

"No, my dear, I'm going to be fucking you," he answered smoothly, and pulled his member free from its confines, stroking it a few times just to get some pheromones in the air. He could tell the second they hit the Omega, Stiles's hips lifting towards Peter of their own accord, his brown eyes darkened with eclipsing pupils.  
  
He slowly pulled off Stiles's rapidly dampening shorts, and a wave of scent hit him as Stiles's slick entrance was exposed to him, all his, all ready for taking. Peter didn't bother testing with his fingers or anything similar; instead he went straight for it, crawling on top of Stiles and thrusting sharp into him to seat his cock fully in him. Stiles gave a mewl of half pleasure, half pain, and struggled to push Peter away with his cuffed wrists, but in a moment, Peter had them pinned with one hand, the other holding onto Stiles's hip as he rolled his own hips into him. 

They moaned in tandem, Stiles rocking back against Peter, his wet heat enveloping Peter's Alpha cock, and Peter thrust hard and fast, setting a brutal pace as his face nosed along Stiles's neck, scenting him and finding the optimal spot for a bonding bite. Stiles clenched and fluttered around him, tightening as Peter took his free hand and stroked Stiles's much smaller cock with it, and Stiles gasped out a curse, something that sounded an awful lot like, 'bastard'. 

"You can call me Daddy," Peter said, and thrust in hard to stop whatever protest Stiles had, his hand stopping in its stroking. Stiles whined. "Come on. Say it. Beg for it." 

Stiles glared up at him with hateful eyes, but then slipped out, "Fuck me, Daddy. Please," he added when Peter raised an eyebrow. 

"Good boy," Peter purred, and could see Stiles blushing under the praise, and started up again, hips rolling more slowly now, hand teasing. 

Those beautiful brown eyes fluttered shut as Stiles gasped and moaned his pleasure, and Peter was surprised by Stiles's sudden orgasm, the teen tightening around him abruptly as he spilled over Peter's hand. That was enough for Peter. He thrust in a few more times before coming, hard, his knot forming and locking them together as he bit down with as much violence as he could on the spot he'd marked out earlier, sinking sharp teeth into the junction between Stiles's shoulder and neck and sucking, sucking, sucking. 

And that was when Stiles passed out.  
  
Well. Now Peter was bonded--and currently physically attached to--a young, unconscious Omega who...

Shit. 

He hadn't used a condom. 

Hopefully that didn't come back to bite him in the ass.  
***  
Paperwork was easy enough, and legally, Stiles was Peter's now. Illegally as well, a shady underhanded deal with Pietro making sure that Peter paid a lower price for his Omega, considering he was one that no one else seemed to be able to tame and that no one else wanted, and Peter knew how to negotiate. 

But now that it was all said and done, he found himself...rather bored. Sure, Stiles was coming home with him today, but...the Omega had resisted every step of the way and with the bond so new and fresh, as well as Stiles's fiery nature reignited by being forced into a bond, Peter would have to keep him under house arrest, and stay with him under it to make sure the bond took. 

Stiles was officially seventeen now, but all legal documents claimed eighteen, so despite the accusations of being a cradle robber, Peter, legally, was above reproach. Not that Stiles was happy about it, mostly wandering the apartment and examining things, his shock collar still on as a precaution in case he decided to attack. 

"Come here," Peter said, when he was sure that Stiles had examined every inch of the apartment, and Stiles turned to give him a flat glare, which Peter responded to with a sassy eyebrow raise. "Or don't, and don't get that collar taken off. Whatever suits you best, I suppose." 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, clearly suspicious, but slowly, cautiously approached, tilting his head to offer his neck to Peter. Peter felt a peculiar rush of pleasure at seeing the now fading, bruised bond mark, though a scar would remain when the bruising had fully faded. Carefully, he unlocked the shock collar, placing it down on the coffee table, though he kept the remote on his person. Just in case Stiles got any ideas. 

"Better?" he asked, and Stiles reluctantly nodded, rubbing at the marks the collar had left on his neck. "Good. See, I'm not the devil. Just an Alpha who needed to bond. Biological instincts and all that." He rolled his eyes at his own words, headed into the kitchen. "Hungry?" 

"Starving," Stiles answered after only a moment, definitely seeming more comfortable with the collar off. 

"Good. Let's feed you first, and then clean you up. I'm sure the club's showers were...sub par."  
  
Peter could feel Stiles's eyes on him and anticipated it before it happened. Stiles rushed him and Peter met him, turning at just the right moment to get one hand around Stiles's throat and the other around the wrist of the hand holding the knife he'd stolen from the table to use against him. 

"Now," Peter said calmly, "let's think this through. New as our bond is, it's still pretty strong, I know you can feel it, because I can feel it too. It told me you were going to attack a second before you'd even decided it yourself. Now, what happens when one bondmate kills another? You know it isn't pretty, Stiles. Killing me won't sever the bond. It'll just make you go insane, at best, or kill yourself, at worst." 

Stiles moved, just slightly, and Peter tightened the hand around his throat, feeling Stiles's pulse flutter under his fingertips. Interesting. 

"Stay here," Peter said, looking directly at those fawn eyes. "Stay here, and I will feed you, clothe you, and take care of you. As soon as I believe you can be trusted not to run, I'll take you in public with me. And someday, you'll be able to go out on your own." He tilted his head, challenging Stiles to find a better option. "Or, if you want, I'll take you straight back to the club, we'll break the bond, and I'll find a more boring Omega to suit my needs. And meanwhile, you'll waste away as you try to fight your way free. This isn't captivity, Stiles. Just a temporary caging. If you go back to the club, you know it will be permanent, or you'll go to a much worse Alpha who wants to break that spirit in you. So." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Drop the knife, and I'll make you lunch. Or hold onto it, and I'll take you back to Hell. What are you going to do?"  
  
There was a moment of breathless silence, in which Peter was certain for a second that Stiles was going to choose the worse option. And then there was a clatter as he dropped the knife, tension slowly easing out of his body as he looked at Peter, who gently released his throat and wrist. 

"Clothes first," Stiles said, voice a little rough, and cleared his throat. "I need something better to wear so I don't feel like a stripper pretending to be a hobo." 

They'd given him a small pair of shorts and a loose t shirt to wear on the way out of the club, and the t shirt was so long that it did honestly look like he wasn't wearing any pants at all. 

"Alright," Peter agreed, calm as ever. "How about this; I'll get a shower going for you if you promise to not try to drown yourself in it, and I'll lay out some clothes for you on the bed for when you're done. Meanwhile, I'll make lunch. Deal?" 

Slowly, Stiles nodded, and Peter led him to the bathroom, starting up a hot shower and handing him a towel. "Use whatever products you'd like," he said, and closed the door on Stiles, laying out clothes on the bed in the bedroom attached to the bathroom. 

A half hour later and Stiles was clean, dressed in an old, smaller pair of Peter's sweatpants, and one of Peter's henleys from before he'd discovered the wonders of low v cut shirts, seated at the table and scarfing down the food that Peter had prepared for him.  
  
Peter ate at a more measured pace, watching his new bondmate across the table, observing. He was cute, after all; and developing features that would be softly handsome when he was actually an adult. And Peter felt a strange stirring of affection upon seeing Stiles in his clothes, covered in the scent of Peter's apartment, Peter's clothes, Peter's products. Just Peter. It made him want to ruin the boy again, take him right across the kitchen table with little to no foreplay. And when Stiles looked up, catching his eyes, he knew that his desire had been bleeding into the bond, because Stiles's eyes were dark. 

He finished his food, carefully setting his fork down, and then looked at Peter, the two of them facing off in the silence. And then Stiles said, "Come and get me, Daddy," and all bets were off.  
***   
It was funny, in some ways, sad in others. Peter could get Stiles engaged in sex easily, but actually getting him to sleep with Peter? Like, in the same bed? Not so easy. 

So Peter didn't fight it, let Stiles sleep on the couch for his first few nights, despite them banging like rabbits during the day, strengthening the bond between them with sex, at the very least. Until one night when Peter woke to find something warm and smaller than him crawling into bed with him that stopped the second it realized he was awake. 

"Well. Come in if you're going to come in," Peter said after a minute of silence, and Stiles slowly finished getting into bed with him, laying his head down against Peter's chest and curling up with his body pressed against Peter's side, far more affection than Peter expected him to show. 

The reason was revealed a moment later; "I don't feel good," Stiles said, and Peter could hear it in his voice. A certain roughness, a certain thickness. He checked the time; 4:24. The sky was just beginning to turn gray.  
  
Surprisingly, Peter didn't have to fight the urge to sigh, instead finding that concern was the immediate emotion that Stiles's words pulled up. As if he was actually growing attached to the Omega, but that was the point of a bond, wasn't it? But considering that Peter had been likened to a sociopath before, he had expected to be immune to those particular side effects of the bond, to be able to keep Stiles at a certain distance. Remain detached.

And yet here he was, pressing a gentle kiss to Stiles's hair and murmuring into it, "What's wrong?" 

"My stomach," Stiles answered, and Peter reached down, placing a gentle hand on the affected area. 

He gently poked and prodded for a minute, feeling around before saying, "Well, I can't find anything wrong on the surface. Is it pain or nausea?" 

"Nausea. I feel like I'm going to hurl," Stiles answered in his elegant way, and Peter gently soothed him, hand stroking along his back, his other hand rubbing his stomach. Gently, so gently. 

"What kind of nausea?" he asked, and Stiles snapped back with, "The kind that makes me want to vomit on your sheets, what other kind is there?" 

Good to see he hadn't lost his fire yet. "Think you can sleep?" Peter asked softly, and Stiles was silent for a moment. 

"I don't know," he answered, and Peter realized that the snuffling he was hearing was Stiles steadily taking in Peter's scent, and taking comfort from it, it seemed, as he started to relax in Peter's arms. And pretty soon, he was at least dozing again, though Peter found he couldn't sleep himself, too worried about the Omega that had been sick enough to seek him out of his own accord.  
***  
It was only about a week later that Peter realized the worst of the worst had happened. 

Stiles was pregnant. 

It explained quite a bit, actually, in an awful way. The sickness that would hit him randomly, but mostly at the early morning hours and make him crawl into bed with Peter seeking comfort. The sudden changes in his mood and appetite, the need for more food and more comfort from Peter, Stiles suddenly affectionate when he'd never been before. The weight gain, that was starting to get to a point where it was obvious, though Stiles had yet to start really "showing". 

When Peter brought home the pregnancy test, Stiles didn't even seem surprised. He seemed numbly detached in a way that worried Peter, and handed the positive test back looking equally numb. "Congrats, I guess," he said, and proceeded to curl up in the fetal position in Peter's--their bed, and sleep for the rest of the day.  
  
Peter sat in the living room as he turned it over in his mind, thinking things through. Despite the fact that Stiles's heat had been artificially induced, it seemed that lack of a condom, even with Peter's age and the artificial rut as well, had produced the child that Peter had never been looking to have. He turned a tumbler of pecan bourbon in his hand as he thought about it, sweet and just a tad bit smoky. Just like the scent of the Omega in the bed several feet away, though Stiles's scent had also changed recently, which should have been his first clue. It'd been noticeably sweeter, but not in a bad way, probably because it'd been softer as well. A soft, sweet, milky scent, and now Peter understood why. Stiles was pregnant, with Peter's child, no less, and Peter had to decide what to do about it. 

Well. He'd always thought that there was more than one option in this situation, but now that he was faced with it, there was really only one. As long as Stiles agreed with it, because that was the key. 

He slid into bed next to the teen to find that he wasn't asleep at all, just curled up, staring at the wall, and that was more concerning than sleeping, to Peter. Slowly, Peter slotted himself in against Stiles's back, wrapping an arm around his waist, and even slower, Stiles began to relax against him, and finally snuggled back against Peter's chest, seeking comfort from him. 

"You came to a decision," Stiles said, and Peter was slightly surprised before remembering that Stiles probably would have been able to feel his indecision and then resolve through the now remarkably strong bond. 

"Yes," Peter answered carefully. "But that doesn't matter if you tell me differently. What do you want to do about it, Stiles?" 

Stiles was quiet for a minute, then another, then another, until Peter wasn't sure he hadn't fallen asleep. Then he heard; "I want to keep it." 

Relief flooded the bond from Peter's end, and Peter felt Stiles's hand find his own, their fingers linking over Stiles's stomach. 

"Good. I do too," Peter said, and gently kissed the back of Stiles's neck. 

Tomorrow, they'd have to start getting Stiles out in public.


End file.
